The Death of Duty
by PrincessDaydream77
Summary: After one slight too many from the Lannisters, Dorne broke their allegiance and joined forces with the Northern army, sealing their bond by giving Robb Stark, Cersei's only daughter, Myrcella, to do with as he pleases. But as they are thrust together, and the war brings more threats to their lives with each passing day, will wolf and lioness find love together, the death of duty?
1. Prisoner in a Gilded Cage

The Death of Duty

Summary: After one slight too many from the Lannisters at King's Landing, Dorne broke their allegiance and joined forces with the Northern army, sealing their bond by giving the King in the North, Robb Stark, Cersei's only daughter, Myrcella, to do with as he pleases. But as they are thrust together, and as the war brings more threats to their lives with each day that passes, will both wolf and lioness find love together, the death of duty?

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful world of Game of Thrones. I wish I did, but I don't.

Chapter One

The beating sun of the Dornish capital shone down on the whole of the city. However, though the warmth was not overpowering on this particularly day, and had been softened by a breeze that oft occurred at this height, Princess Myrcella found that it offered no comfort to her, not through the bars of her cell.

Though the Martells, the family that ruled over this beautiful city and the country beyond, had professed to King's Landing that she was to be a guest, she resided in the highest room of the Spear Tower. The room was comfortable enough, the view was truly stunning, and she wanted for neither food nor clothing, but the bars covering her window reminded her of just what she was. A prisoner.

She had been sent to Dorne by her mother's youngest brother, Tyrion, as insurance of their allegiance to King Joffrey and the Lannister army, and it was only a day or two of correspondence by raven before she had been spirited away to the very south of the Seven Kingdoms. She had bitten her lip until they had sailed out of sight of the crowd gathered on the beach, knowing that her mother would not want her to cry. The woman's words echoed in her mind even now. _You are a lion, my love, and lions must always be strong._

Tommen had cried. She had seen the tears streaking down his cheeks, even from the distance she was at. She had always been the one to comfort her younger brother when he cried, and it tore at her heartstrings to see him so upset. But, for the first time in her life, she had not gone to him. She had simply turned her head to the side and hoped for good wind so that she would not have to look at him for as long.

She missed her brother dearly. Tommen was certainly the one she missed the most out of her family, followed quickly by her mother and her uncle Tyrion, even though he had been the one to ship her off to Dorne. She could not say that she would miss Joffrey in the least, though. They had always hated each other; he resented that she had taken his mother's attention from him for a time when she was first born, and she hated the way he treated those he considered to be beneath him. '_There could not have been a worse choice for king than Joffrey.'_ she thought, resenting the fact that Joffrey had been born before Tommen. Her younger brother would have been a better king, in her opinion, even now, at the tender age of eight.

Myrcella sank down onto her cot, wishing madly for a book or for a cyvasse board. The only form of entertainment she had been given was two books of religious instruction, _The Seven-Pointed Star _and _The Book of Holy Prayer_, both of which she had read from cover to cover within three days of arriving. Most of all, she wished for a companion to speak to, just for an hour or two, to stop herself from going mad.

On occasion, she had listened to her late father speaking of important executions to take place, often choosing to discuss them at the dinner table. Her mother had always chastised him, professing that such topics were not to be discussed in the presence of young children, but he had never listened. '_Father never listened to Mother, yet she never stopped telling him off. Perhaps she thought that one day she'd get through.'_ Still, the memories remained, as well as the memories of herself as a little girl, wondering why the men and women looked so sad as they made their way up to the Sept of Baelor from the dungeons. Now, she knew exactly how they had felt, waiting for a death they knew was coming, trapped, unable to do anything to stop it.

Suddenly, the sound of voices and approaching footsteps reached her ears. Myrcella leapt to her feet, unsure whether she was fearful or excited at the thought of finally having someone else to talk to, for she doubted that it would be a visit for social purposes.

The key rattled loudly in the lock and the door seemed to roar like a wild beast as it creaked open. '_Perhaps it just seems so loud because I've been in silence for so long.'_ she reasoned. '_Or perhaps it is my mind telling me that something is about to go very wrong.'_

Heels clacked noisily on the stone floor as Arianne Martell entered the room. In spite of herself, Myrcella looked down at the floor, forgetting that she was a royal princess and Arianne only a Dornish one. The older woman had a way of making anyone feel inferior, for she was such a wonderful person that she seemed to glow. If they had sent her as a messenger, then something was truly wrong.

"Princess Arianne." she greeted politely, trying to sound confident, though the shaking of her voice gave her away. "Has something happened?"

"Myrcella." she greeted in return and Myrcella frowned. She was rarely addressed by her given name, especially not by strangers. "I'm afraid I've something to tell you. It may be a pleasant change for you or it may not, but this is how it shall be. And I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

Myrcella frowned, clasping her shaking hands together, and drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for what was to come. Even at her tender age, she had known enough loss to know when she was being sacrificed.

A/N: In this story, Myrcella has been aged up to around the same age as Sansa. This is because of later storylines, which would be inappropriate for a younger girl. Please review!


	2. The Journey to the End

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you to Frozen862, Guest, Louise, HeartoftheArtsari and yourloved for reviewing the last chapter.

Myrcella had always imagined that, when she stepped outside into the open air for the first time, she would feel elated and free. But she could hardly feel free when she knew that she was merely being transferred from one prison to the next. All the princess could do was hope that her next captors would be a little more lenient. '_With the country the way it is,'_ she thought bitterly. '_I very much doubt it.'_

The Starks' hatred for her mother and her kin was well-known by even the smallfolk now, and so Myrcella surrendered to their bannermen without a fight, fearful that any struggle would result in a beating, or worse. All her life, her mother had told her of the savage Northmen, who killed each other for the slightest insult and mated with wolves in the night; the Seven only knew what they would do to a daughter of one of their greatest enemies, if she did not submit to capture meekly.

As it was, the three young men sent to retrieve the princess seemed kind enough. Although they did not speak with her at all throughout the journey, they left her hands and feet unbound as she rode alongside them. '_They trust that I won't run away.'_ she thought, unable to hide her surprise at this fact. '_Or perhaps they know that I don't have the courage.'_

The journey went on for a long time, though how long Myrcella could not have said. Once they had ridden a fair distance from Sunspear, they found themselves in the midst of the Dornish desert, one of the most notorious places in the known world. Many a man had died of thirst on the golden sands, while many more had simply withered away from the heat. Yet it was not the sands of Dorne that Myrcella feared so much as the snows of the North and the grim-faced Stark king waiting amidst them.

She had first met Robb Stark little over a year ago, when she had ridden with the court to Winterfell, for her father to ask Lord Stark to be his Hand. Now that lord was dead and her father was too, and the boy she had shyly admired at the feast had grown into a man, and had crowned himself king as well.

It was strange how the world could have changed so much in so little time. King Robert had hardly been cold in his grave before the disputes started over who should take his place. Myrcella remembered putting the question to her mother, when Ned Stark had come into the throne room and denounced Joffrey's birthright, stating that the throne instead belonged to her uncle, Stannis. Mother had spoken to her and Tommen at length about it that evening, saying that he was only a jealous foolish man who would do anything to weaken the Lannister claim to the throne, but still it had crossed her mind more than once how swiftly her mother had protested, when she usually dismissed things of this nature quite calmly.

Finally, Myrcella's eye was caught by the beating sunlight, which was reflected off of the calm blue expanse of the sea beyond. This was a far lesser known port than the one at Sunspear, one that was far less likely to be monitored by the crown. '_They won't know that I'm gone until it's too late.'_ the princess thought regretfully, unable to contain the wish that they would run into one of the Lannister ships as they sailed. '_Anything to take me home, back where I belong.'_

The only trouble was... she did not know where that was anymore.

She allowed the thoughts to skip through her mind endlessly, until eventually she was so exhausted that she drifted off to sleep, the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the ship a familiar lullaby for a girl who had spent near every day of her life beside the ocean.

When the princess awoke, the boat had ceased its movement. '_Have we stopped for supplies?'_ she wondered. '_Or, Mother have mercy, are there pirates coming? Or my uncle Stannis?'_ There had once been a time when Myrcella had believed, though he cut a frightening figure, her uncle would never do her harm. Those beliefs had died with her father, for now she did not what or who to trust. Any one of them could turn on her, just as the Martells did.

A single glance out of the small window of her cabin gave Myrcella one of her answers. A scant hundred feet away loomed a great stone fortress. It was different to the many Southern palaces and castles the girl had seen on her childhood progresses, seeming to be built largely for purpose rather than appearance; in fact, the place bore resemblance to only one that she had seen before, and the flags flying above it seemed so very familiar...

Myrcella's heart sank as she recognised the grey direwolf, prowling on a field of white, alongside the silver trout of the Tullys. She was finally here. The time had come to face her fate. She could only hope that the boy was as kind to her as he had been at Winterfell. _A crown will change a man, my sweetling, and rarely for the better_. Her mother's words rang through her mind, echoing even as she tried to ignore them.

As the princess clambered into the little boat and began to row ashore, she caught sight of the welcoming party assembled on the banks. The group was hardly aptly named, for Myrcella had hardly seen anything so foreboding in all her years, and the closer they came, the more she recognised, and the faster her heart began to pound.

There were knights, bannermen and soldiers beyond counting, armed and dressed in mail, but they were not the ones who the princess feared. The cause of her anxiety stood before them, a crown of iron set among his auburn curls. Ever from the distance, Myrcella could hear the shout, the shout which eradicated that which had always protected her the most.

"All hail the King in the North!"

A/N: Please review!


	3. The King in the North

Chapter Three

A/N: Thank you to Saint River, Hurricane Jackson, deb025 and Master of Dragons Gold for reviewing the last chapter.

The moment she set foot on solid ground, Myrcella could feel the chill of the breeze. The wind had picked up now and the clouds were heavy and grey, the threat of rain becoming stronger with each minute that passed. Her septa had once told her that rainfall was the tears of the Gods, lamenting on the tragedies of the mortal world. '_I only hope they will not weep for me.'_ she wished, a shiver running down her spine.

As she was led forward by three guardsmen in Tully blue and red, Myrcella took the opportunity to look more closely as this so-called 'King in the North'. He was not so intimidating up close as he was from afar; in fact, he had not changed so much in appearance from the time he had walked her into the feast at Winterfell.

She recalled that day more vividly than she did all the time she had spent in Dorne, though it had been so many moons ago. The fires had been roaring in their hearths to fight the chill from outside and the music and laughter had roared loud enough to render her deaf until the next morning. Now, the only sound on the cool sea air was the continuous chant of the soldiers.

"King in the North! King in the North! King in the North!"

Only once Robb Stark raised his hand did the shouts fade to silence. By this time, Myrcella was but a few feet away from him and the guards had the courtesy to release her, so that she might walk the final steps herself and retain some dignity.

The silence was stifling, the unbroken gaze of the soldiers overwhelming. Myrcella wished she had a way to make it stop. Suddenly, it struck her.

They were waiting for her to kneel before their king.

For a moment, Myrcella was struck dumb. She had never been taught a low curtsey as a child, the type that one might afford to a king; why would she have been? She was a princess- the king was her father, would one day be her brother, her nephew, perhaps. She should never have cause to offer such deference... and yet it was expected of her now.

Myrcella considered, for just a moment, trying to curtsey nonetheless. An attempt at courtesy, however weak, would surely be better than none. But before she could tuck one ankle behind the other, her mother's image appeared before her eyes, more startlingly clear than any of those gathered before her. _You are a lioness, my love,_ she had always told her. _A doe might cower and bolt before its predator, but the lion will never succumb._

With the voice of Cersei Lannister ringing in her ears, Myrcella allowed the slightest smile to curl her lips, raising her chin high in defiance. A murmur began amongst the crowd, a thousand men or more condemning her decision. But the princess remained steadfast. _You are a princess. Never forget who you are._

It seemed that Robb Stark was not as appalled by her defiance as his men were; on the contrary, he almost seemed to find it amusing. His mother was not so amusing, glaring at her as if she were a commoner begging in the streets and not the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

"You are very brave, my lady." His voice was a booming roar, not dissimilar to her own father's, when he had addressed the people. '_He sounds like a king,'_ she thought. '_Nothing like the boy from the feast that lead me to the dais.'_

The slight had not gone unnoticed by Myrcella either. "I am not a lady, Lord Robb. I am a princess."

"Not in the North." Lady Catelyn spoke up, her tone as icy as the frozen wasteland from which she had come.

"We're not in the North." Myrcella observed, in a tone quite as haughty as her mother's. She doubted that would make them like her any better, but then again, she was half-lion by blood, and Joffrey's sister as well- she doubted anything she did would lessen their loathing.

Her confidence faded quickly enough, when she saw the frosty glares of the men she assumed to be Robb's councillors. She recognised a few of them from her visit to Winterfell; Jon Umber, Rickard Karstark, young Theon Greyjoy. None of them wore the expressions of happiness they had worn that day- if anything, they looked murderous.

'_Of course they do.'_ she realised. '_My brother executed their liege lord, my mother stood by and watched, while my grandfather wages war against them and kills ten score of soldiers with each passing day. Before that, my uncle Jaime stabbed Lord Stark in the streets and slaughtered his men. Every one of those men who have died has a brother or father or son in these crowds, and I imagine they would happily see me dead to wash the pain away with Lannister blood. The Gods only know... mayhaps they will.'_

"Theon," The Young Wolf's instruction cut through her thoughts like a knife through soft cheese. A good thing, for otherwise she might have started to cry out of fear, another thing her mother had always warned against. "Take Lady Myrcella to her confinements and see that she remains there."

The young man at Robb's side stepped forward. He was wearing a cloak of black, with embroidery picked out in gold thread. Myrcella recalled a similar cloak she had had once, though the colours had been of House Baratheon, black on gold. She had worn it when they had ventured up to Winterfell.

When the Greyjoy boy grasped her roughly by the arm, Myrcella could not help but gasp, for his grip was as iron as his blood, if tales could be believed. The new Lord Stark noticed her discomfort and chastised his comrade.

"Gently, Theon." he instructed and Theon reluctantly obeyed. "I don't want any harm to come to her. If it does, I'll know who to blame."

As she was led away, more gently this time, Myrcella could not help but wonder. '_Why would a man, in front of thousands assembled who want me dead, grant me kindness?'_

A/N: We'll find out in the next chapter. Please review!


	4. Prisoner of War

Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you to Master of Dragons God, ladyres, Revan3363, Dragonbinder, Ptl4ever419, Guest, yourloved, EndlessReign, Nathalieobvious, Guest, ro781727 and Beth for reviewing. It means so much to me!

Myrcella turned on her pallet once again, trying to find a position in which she could comfortably sleep. Having been raised a princess, she had always slept on featherbeds with the finest silken sheets, and even in Sunspear her bed had adequately befit a lady of her station- laying on rough-filled sackcloth with only her cloak for a blanket was a different experience entirely.

It was cold in the tent, so cold that the grass had turned white and brittle with frost, and Myrcella huddled further beneath her cloak, desperately grasping for any warmth she could find. She could not remember ever being this cold. '_The Starks have the right of it,'_ she thought. '_Winter is coming.'_

Somehow, the chilly air combined with the smell of the river's salt water reminded her of a trip to Estermont, back when Tommen was still a babe and her not a great deal older. It had been a wondrous moon's turn, filled with roaring hearths and laughter echoing all across the castle. When she was a child, it had been one of her most treasured memories- now, she recalled the lightning flashes against the black sky, and the bruises they showed on her mother's collarbone. '_Not the first and certainly not the last. I can only pray that my lord husband will never be so cruel to me. If I survive long enough to wed, that is.'_

It was a thought she had often had, though she tried her best to avoid it, morbid as it was. After all, ever since she had left the capital, she had been a captive, whether called a guest or otherwise. War had broken out across the Kingdoms, with five men claiming the Iron Throne as their right. What hope had a poor little princess, heir to the throne after her brothers, when she fell into the clutches of the enemy?

Even in this situation, Myrcella found it difficult to view Robb Stark as the enemy, just as she did her uncles. Her mother had always taught her that anyone who was not family could be an enemy. But now even the Baratheons had turned on each other, fighting tooth and nail for the birthright of their brother's children. '_My mother was wrong about my uncles.' _she thought, and could not help herself from wondering further. '_Perhaps she was wrong about the King in the North as well.'_

Another element of the life at a military camp which Myrcella found difficult to cope with was the noise. True, King's Landing was a bustling city, but it had always seemed fairly peaceful from the palace, and the Water Gardens had been all but silent during the night. At one point, she had even pulled her pillow over her ears to block out the noise, but quickly thought better of it. After all, she was in a tent in a military camp, a prisoner without a friend. She could not to deprive herself of the opportunity to see an attacker coming- her mother would never forgive that.

Yet somehow, amidst the discomfort and the cold and the noise, she eventually drifted off into slumber. Her dreams were what they always were, not fair maidens and painted knights like most other girls- her mother had long ago disillusioned her about such things- but the nightmares of a childhood spent in a dangerous city. Occasionally it was the prisoners who had been sent to execution, or the smallfolk who starved to death in the streets. Once she dreamt of a poor boy who she had seen trampled to death by a horse during a royal parade. But this night she dreamt of the horrors within her own home, when her mother could not conceal her rage and her father was too far into his cups to ignore her. He had beaten her badly that night, folk had said, although they were careful not to say so around her uncle Jaime, for fear of what he might do.

In the dream, her father's hand wrapped tight around her wrist, his grip painful and bruising. She wrestled against him in confusion- her father had never turned his anger onto her- before she realised the pain was real.

Myrcella sat bolt upright and shrieked, much to the shock of the fur-wrapped figure stood above her, the one who was grasping her wrist. His expression had turned to fear now, but she recognised the smirk he had worn before: Theon Greyjoy.

"Lord Theon." she greeted in a voice as timid as a mouse. Her resolve to disguise her fear had disappeared with the young man's growing smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Just obeying orders." Theon answered with a shrug. "King Robb told me to make sure you remained confined. To see you were being treated appropriately."

The smile had changed now, the sort of smile her father had given serving wenches when he thought her mother was not watching. His eyes had drifted downwards and suddenly Myrcella was conscious of her thin nightgown and the transparency of material which had never bothered her in the past. She instinctively took a step backwards. Theon took one forwards. Myrcella took another step and so did he until there was no further for her to walk.

For the briefest moment, Myrcella's eyes turned skywards. She asked the Mother for mercy, the Warrior for protection, the Maiden for… but she received no answer, and Theon moved closer still, closing the gap between them. Myrcella opened her mouth, intending to scream, but closed it again; even if someone was still awake to hear her, who would help?

Theon was reaching towards her now and Myrcella closed her eyes, waiting for the pressure of his hand, the beginning of what she knew was about to come. She may have been raised a princess, sheltered from the horrors of the outside world, but when they occurred in the very palace she lived in, there was not much that could be done to protect her.

Then her eyes flew open once more, in time to see Theon go flying across the tent, reeling from the vicious blow to his head. There were shouts and threats and cries of pain, then Theon staggered from the tent, his hand clamped tight around his aching jaw. Myrcella let out a breath she had not realised she held and felt tears well up in her eyes, the room around her spinning.

She barely noticed as she collapsed to the floor and clung to the fur of her saviour's hastily-donned cloak. For all his emotional response to his bannerman, while his prisoner sobbed wildly against his chest, Robb Stark simply held her as she cried.

A/N: I am so sorry I took so long to update. I don't even know how long it's been, but before I finished it today I hadn't written on this document for about four months. Anyway, I'm back now (kind of-see my profile page for details) so please review, if you guys are still out there! Thank you!


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